


Palmtop Wonderland

by PSIDontKnow



Series: Season 51 Episode 3 [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Other, Season 51 of the killing game baby!!, Technically set in V3's Universe, This is stupid and gay but hell, it's 2019 and cringe culture is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 17:10:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19949845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PSIDontKnow/pseuds/PSIDontKnow
Summary: If I could hold the world in the palm of my hand, it would seem quite small indeed.------------------------------------------------------How Season 51 begins and ends for One Contestant





	Palmtop Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> Cringe culture is DEAD BABY!! My BF and I made DR OCs and so i ended up writing this. I kinda wanna make it a series, it would be fun to have everyone contribute characters too!  
> Anyways, [Kyou](https://twitter.com/snottyskotty666/status/1150261653075898370) and[Kou ](https://twitter.com/snottyskotty666/status/1149997875260219392) as drawn by my super talented bf! His art is also used in this fic, because he draws these boogers so cute.

They sort through the muddled masses of their memories, of being shoved into a vehicle and transported forcefully, and it makes something hitch in their chest that they ignore by gently brushing their bangs out of their face and adjusting their headband. They can still feel the slight stiffness of product in the strands, so they keep from tugging at their bangs, a nervous gesture they’d never outgrown. Instead, they busy their hands with straightening their clothes, brushing dirt from their pants, pressing their collar to keep the crease, fiddling with the buttons of their vest. The area was unfamiliar, the pain in their head blinding, but they take deep breaths and remind themselves of what’s important. Their name is Kyou Hashimoto, they’re 17, they like sour candies and sweet pretzels, they’ve been kidnapped and taken to an unknown location for some reason that they can’t fathom. Going through the events like that makes them calm enough to investigate their surroundings, poking around the tables and chairs around the room. It almost looked like a rec room at a community center or something similar until they got to the closet at the back of the room. Kyou doesn’t even get a chance to open it before it opens on it’s own, another kid coming out of it with a yelp. 

“I guess that’s one way to come out of the closet.” They laugh, kneeling down to help the smaller one out.

“Saying American things isn’t funny.” The kid huffs, taking Kyou’s hand anyways, only long enough to be helped up before aggressively adjusting their skirt aggressively, fluffing the petticoat and checking for any stains. Kyou doesn’t get a chance to ask for the other kid’s name before the screen at the other end of the room comes to life. There’s -

“I-is that a teddy bear?” Kyou can’t stop their laughter at the thing, covering their mouth to try and stop the giggles as it speaks in a ridiculous voice.

“ _ I’m sure you have all noticed that you’re trapped! Upupupu! If you haven’t than you’re a complete idiot! Totally unworthy of the title of Ultimate! Pick yourselves up and go introduce yourself to the 15 others! That mean’s there’s 16 of you dunderheads. You’ve got an hour to find each other and meet up in the main event hall. If you don’t, then ….Upupupu~. _ ” The screen flips off, leaving the room in silence for a moment before Kyou turns back to the other.

“I guess I should introduce myself then before anything untoward happens. I’m Hashimoto Kyou, the ultimate PR Representative, it’s nice to meet you!” 

“Ah - I’m Takenaka Kou.” The boy tugs on a short strand of green hair before ducking back into the closet, coming back out with a giant moon shaped pillow. “Ultimate Insomniac.” Kyou laughs again, making the smaller boy puff out his cheeks even as he hides his face in his pillow.

“What kind of talent is not sleeping?”

“Well, what kind of talent is kissing ass?”

“That’s fair.” Kyou finally gets their laughter under control, wiping away a fake tear before wrapping a hand around Kou’s small wrist. 

“Well c’mon then, murder bear isn’t gonna let us stay around here all day!”

-o-O-o-

Class trials one and two had come and gone, four classmates gone, and it makes it hard for Kyou to sleep. They think of Kou and his constant racoon eyes, the few times the other had dozed off on them (usually literally) and they resolve to harass the other instead of sitting alone, staring at the wall. This decision has nothing to do with a burgeoning crush and everything to do with misery (and insomnia) loving company. They throw off the covers, running an idle hand through their hair and putting in their headband. It’s too late for them to add more product to the previous day’s and too much effort to shower now instead of in the morning. It’s also too much trouble to do more than slide on their slippers and glasses before leaving the room in their pajamas. 

It’s probably sad how familiar they are at doing this, able to locate Kou’s room quickly in the dim lighting of the halls. They lift their hand to knock gently, as they’d done many other nights, but as soon as their knuckles touch the door, it creaks open. Anxiety builds in their chest, a shaking hand pushing the door open further to see something they surely don’t want to.

“Takenaka-kun?” They call into the dark softly before flicking on the light. The room is trashed, blankets kicked to the wayside, Kou’s signature pillow and the knife that normally resides in the hidden pocket of it thrown away from each other haphazardly, gifts from the Monogacha either busted or toppled. Kyou feels the hiccups coming on, slapping a hand over their mouth to stop them as they look at the destruction of their friend’s room.  _ He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s - not dead you moron, look for him!  _ Their green eyes scan the room for any sign of the smaller boy before they catch sight of his Monopad and bolt back to their room for their own.

They’ll find him.

-o-O-o-

Kyou is relieved after the revelation of the killing game, the other Ultimates, the distrust, that there’s a series of dorms with each person’s name stamped on it. They trace a finger over the pixelated design on the door that’s most likely meant to be them, laughing before they enter their room. The sight of it has their breath hitching in their throat, hiccups building in their chest. It’s empty, they don’t know why all of it is making them upset, but the hiccups begin anyways, and they think of their mother wiping away tears.

_ ‘My little Kyou-chan, all those bad feelings escape from you so easily!’ _ She’d laughed softly as they hiccuped so hard their ribs hurt because they were upset. They wish they’d grown out of it from age 7 to 17, but anxiety still bubbles up from them and squeezes their ribs, popping in the air like bubbles. They ignore them and inspect the room, hiccuping all the way. The bed is soft, they note with a squeak, the bathroom is clean, a hitch, there’s a desk full of  _ their _ makeup and their diaphragm spasms harder. There’s a bottle of painkillers in the bathroom that they ignore and revel in the pain in their ribs as they check out the wardrobe, looking at the replicas of both their official and lounge wear. This is real, real  _ fucked up _ , and they giggle at their own private joke before a hiccup stalls them out and they tug out something soft and comfortable to sleep in, tossing their clothes about the room without a care and setting about their nightly rituals as best they can.

Shower, earlier than normal because they feel nasty.

Digging through the makeup left for them for cleanser and moisturizer, humming and applying it like they’d taught themself.

Soft clothes that fit loosely, androgenous enough to look at without any sort of despair choking them.

Curl under the blankets and count as high as they can, letting the numbers soothe them to sleep.

They don’t realize when the hiccups stop and sleep begins.

-o-O-o-

Kyou grips their Monopad tightly, knuckles turning white in the dim lighting, as they descend into the basement of the facility they’re all trapped in. According to the map, the little pixel caricature of both Kou and another classmate are here, which means the actual people should be too. Kyou doesn’t know what they’re doing, they’re unarmed, gripping a tablet given to them by a murderbear and walking to (probably) their death in pajamas patterned with said murder bear. It’s stupid, ridiculously stupid, but they’re still doing it, slippers ‘ _ shuff shuff _ ’-ing along the concrete of the basement facilities. They’re holding their breath to stave off the hiccups, focusing on making sure that their friend is okay. Eyes flicking between the screen and the darkness around them, they realize that they’re close to where Kou should be.

“Takenaka-kun?” They call out, receiving a muffled shout in response that sends their heart into their throat as they look around the basement, frantically darting around the support beams until they see a stocking clad foot kicking frantically, arms tied behind the beam with rope. They dart around to the front, smiling brightly at Kou’s tear streaked face, ducking down to yank the cloth gag out of the boy’s mouth.

“There you are! I was so worr-”

“Hashimoto!” They boy is struggling harder as he cuts them off and Kyou feels a faint moment of confusion before something makes contact with the side of their head and the world goes pear shaped around the sound of Kou’s scream.

-o-O-o-

“It seems to be self sustaining. If the murder bear wasn’t here, we could most likely comfortably live here for years, if we rationed correctly.” Kyou is pointing at the map and the neat little labels on their Monopad, showing the garden to the other Ultimates, the water recycling machine and incinerator under the main building in the massive basement. They talk softly to the others, smiling though they’re bitter that they couldn’t have had this conversation two hours ago, over breakfast. It wasn’t the fault of the others, just their own mind, but they still feel bitter that they hadn’t been recognized. They’d walked in with their hair disheveled, in comfortable clothes, and had been startled out of their pleasant haze by someone yelling and asking who they were. It made them feel itchy, and they’d opted to go back to their room, to go ahead and shower and use product to keep their hair down and tamed, to smear makeup over freckles and rings, switching their glasses back to the round ones that looked more professional than their comfortable square ones they preferred to wear. It’s no one’s problem but their own, but they still feel bitter about it.

It’s not enough to keep them from smiling their winning smile and idly chatting about who should inspect which areas of the compound that keeps them in by sheer virtue of a concrete wall that blocks out the sun. It is enough that they let slide a few jokes about being careful to not get dirty or their bodies might be unrecognizable if anyone takes Monokuma up. They say all of it in the same tone of voice, bright expression and light tone, and realizes that it doesn’t endear anyone to them, except for the sleepy boy that had already cried and yelled at someone for calling him a girl. Kyou resolves to find a way to make a powerpoint about gender expression to show the others after exploration is done. Just because they’re in a killing game doesn’t mean they have to be assholes. They’re so lost in their thoughts about expression and murder that they don’t notice when the others do split up until their stomach growls.

They’d skipped breakfast and are about ready to ignore that fact, pushing up from the table until they’re stopped by grey eyes staring at them.

“There’s still left overs in the kitchen, Hashimoto-san, or things to make yourself.” Kou yawns halfway through his words, laying on his ever present pillow, folded over the table and staring. His voice is soft, slightly raspy, but it makes Kyou warm, butterflies fluttering as they smile.

“Thanks Takenaka-kun.”

-o-O-o-

Kyou is breathing heavily, hands shaking around the grip of the baseball bat as they stare at what used to be their classmate. They don’t get much longer to reflect on the fact that the crushed watermelon attached to a mannequin had once been a person, one that they’d killed before Kou makes another distressed noise and they set about untying the ropes keeping the smaller boy tethered to one of the support beams. Kyou rubs Kou’s wrists gently as they help the other stand, thumbs brushing over the bruising skin.

“Are you alright Takenaka-kun?” They ask, still rubbing the other’s wrists until Kou grabs their own.

“[Are you](https://twitter.com/snottyskotty666/status/1153578065714458630)?” He asks, voice soft and blunt, ever normal, and Kyou stops for a moment to stare into his eyes, green to gray. They both stay like that, half crouched and staring at each other until Kyou laughs lightly and pulls his friend up fully.

“Of course! A bump isn’t going to stop me.” They grin, and Kou regards them with a wary eye. He’d seen them be knocked down by the assailant, seen them pick up the same bat and beat a classmate to death. He doesn’t say any of that though, instead gently picking a piece of plastic from their hair, what had used to be a piece of their headband and is now shards congealed to pink strands with blood. They let him, blinking away tears that well up at the tenderness of the action. Kou’s eyes then drift to their would be murderer, a sneer curling on his normally impassive face and he steps from Kyou’s grip to kick at the limp body.

“Scum.” The word is spit out, Kou’s lip curling even further back as blood smears on his slipper sock. It’s then that Kyou realizes the insomniac they’d grown protective of was in actual pajamas, meaning the attacker had taken him from his room during one of his few times of rest. It makes anger flair higher in their chest, but they instead place a hand on Kou’s shoulder.

“Take off your socks, they’re bloody. I’ll deal with this,’kay?”

“How? I should - I should help.” Kou reaches to take off his socks even as he protests, and Kyou smiles at the sight.

“It’s fine, according to the Monopad, there’s an incinerator down here. It’s a self sufficient enclosure, remember? I can just clean up that and you can go to sleep.” They take the socks from the Insomniac, staring at him, silently pleading for him to go.

“...Alright, but when you’re done, come get me before you go to sleep. You might have...a concussion or something.” Kou’s voice trails off and he looks away from both them and the body, and Kyou can’t stop themself, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on the top of the boy’s green hair.

“Alright.” Cheeks burning red, Kou puts a hand over the place before walking away muttering and Kyou feels warm inside. The boy stops for a moment, raising a hand lazily before his small voice calls out.

“Good night, Kyou-chan.” Their own cheeks burn bright at the use of their given name, but they wave back, smiling so hard it feels as if they’ll cry.

“Good night, Kou-kun.” They wait until they can’t see him anymore to drop the smile, running a hand over their hand, absently noting the stray curls breaking from product without the band to tame them. There is an incinerator, but there’s no way to get all of the pieces of what had once been a person into it anyways. Beyond that, the blood has probably already soaked into the concrete of the basement. They’re going to be caught, they can’t in consciousness kill the rest of the class left. They’ll make it a good trial though, it’s what the others would want. They n̴e̢ed to be Eņt͏e͠r̶t̕a͡ini҉ng.

The thought makes them prickle in their skin, like someone is staring at them, and they wonder where it comes from before they banish it from their mind. They have only a few hours to try and succeed in doing what they’re planning to. They throw both their slippers and Kou’s socks into the incinerator, watching to make sure evidence of their friend being involved at all is destroyed before they begin to dig around. They come up with a plastic tub that’s near as long as their dead classmate, a generator, and a plan. The generator is gas powered, a backup for the solar powered system, and they take one of the containers of fuel, dumping it on the body until it’s near empty. They quickly strip off their pajamas, wiping blood off their glasses before soaking the cloth in the rest of the gasoline. It’ll burn quicker laid flat, so they cover the body with the bear patterned pajamas. They stab the bottom of the plastic tub with a screwdriver that had been lying around and position it near the body. The pieces of their headband are collected and thrown into the incinerator, their watch washed in the small bathroom available, face scrubbed free of blood amidst poking at the lacerations hidden by their hair, bat tucked behind a pillar in a purposely poorly thought of hiding spot.

They have to skitter back upstairs into the kitchen, yanking a long lighter from the catchall drawer they’d discovered in the first week, mentally rehearsing telling the others that they sleep in their boxers and were looking for a snack. Luckily, they don’t get caught and make it back downstairs. They take a moment, breathing deeply, staring at the body dressed like a turkey about to be roasted, trying to avoid letting it sink in that they killed someone, that they’re about to mutilate the body and will probably end up dead themself in less than 24 hours. They don’t let any of that sink in, instead crouching down to set patches of former person on fire, quickly smacking the plastic tub down over it. The holes will let the fire grow with oxygen, but the tub itself will keep the smoke from setting off the fire alarms before they get back to their room. They ignore the glow of the flame and run back into the kitchen, slowing to a walk on the path back to the rooms, just in case anyone else is awake.

They don’t go to Kou’s room, like they’d said, going back to their room alone and climbing into bed, breathing deeply and counting as high as they can.

They inhale and press back on the hiccups threatening to rise.

-o-O-o-

Kou dozes off on them in the AV room.

He trusts them enough for that.

Kyou jokingly offers a piggy back ride during the first investigation and lets the surprising weight that takes up the offer relax them.

A smaller hand in theirs as they hiccup during the trial.

Grey eyes focused on one, two, knit, pearl.

Lips pressed to the top of his head.

Green hair smooth between their fingers as they idly make tiny braids.

Vivid bright blood and pain blooming.

Ruffles and pressed collars.

A knife hidden in comfort.

_ Oh, I think I love him. _

Bandaids on knees and foundation built on imperfections.

-o-O-o-

They’d been hiccuping the entire trial, had passed it off as a thing that tends to happen randomly and frequently all of the other times, but Kou knows, and Kou holds their hand from the podium next to them. Kyou squeezes that rough hand and grins, shooting back, word for word for stutter-stopped-word. They let go as they get closer to the truth, and the fingers are pointed at them.

“It wasn’t though! It was me!” Kou yells instead, voice cracking around his emotions and the others are startled at his loud outburst, infrequent as it is.

“Kou-kun….”

“No! It was - it was me! I bashed the fucker’s skull in and - ” There’s fat tears pouring down the boy’s face, emotion turning pale skin ruddy as he yells at the others that it was all a part of his master plan. It doesn’t last before the tears choke out the rest of his words and he leans heavily on the podium, sobbing and hiccuping as Kyou tells the rest the truth of what had happened. The hiccups have stopped, and they feel both anxious and at peace with the knowledge that Kou will last at least a little longer, a little closer to winning this horrid game. They vote for themself, smiling at Kou as he punches them in the arm. They’re guilty, guilty, guilty, of murder, of lying, of falling in love with a boy after only a short time of knowing him. They drop another kiss on him, lips pressed to the smoothness of his forehead before Monokuma does his worst.

“ _ Iiiiiiit’s punishment time! _ ”

-o-O-o-

Jeers and a stage, the faces of their classmates watching safe from harm, and they play their part until there’s pain and a blinding flash of light, pain striking through them as something pierces their eye and the world

goes

black

-o-O-o-

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! There's one more art piece that didn't fit in here, but I wanted to [show Kou](https://twitter.com/snottyskotty666/status/1153585870412402690) anyways. You can find the artist at Snottyskotty666 on Twitter and DeviantArt and at nurse-angel-harmony on tumblr! He's super talented, shsl artist bf!!!
> 
> Anyways! I had a lot of fun writing this silly self indulgent thing, I had originally meant for Kyou to come off as a rat sort of character, but they got all soft and ended up being a sort of soft leader. I'm already writing a sequel in which both they and Kou interact with canon characters, so if you're interested, please keep an eye out for that. I also want to write more about the killing game itself and other things. If anyone has something in particular you'd like to see, feel free to say!!
> 
> Please Kudo/Comment/Lemme see if you liked this.


End file.
